


a job well done

by starblessed



Category: The Greatest Showman (Movies)
Genre: Everyone Loves Anne Wheeler, F/M, POV Outsider, Protective Siblings, Siblings, he gets a pov!, instead of w.d. standing in the background glaring at phillip the whole time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 15:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13274712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: W.D. was five years old when the responsibility of looking after his family fell on his shoulders. He’s never faltered under the burden. He does his job with pride.Anne is the only family he’s got left, and he’ll do anything to keep her from getting hurt.





	a job well done

**Author's Note:**

> written for a tumblr prompt asking me to write Anne/Phillip (CarWheeler??) from W.D.’s point of view. exploring W.D. was really fun for me and I wish we saw more of him/the Wheeler siblings together in the movie!
> 
> again, my tumblr is [abroholoselephanta](http://abroholoselephanta.tumblr.com/) and i’m accepting The Greatest Showman prompts!

When he was a child — years ago, back before he really understood concepts like poverty, greed, or the way his dark skin set him apart from others — his father found him hanging upside down from a high tree branch.

W.D. had scaled the tree carefully, using his tiny hands to pull himself up branch by branch. The higher he rose into the sky, the more exhilarated he felt. Next to his strong-shouldered mother and towering father, he rarely felt tall. Up that high, it was as if he could touch the clouds. He was invincible.

He can only imagine he scared his poor father when he saw him dangling high overhead. To W.D.’s young mind, he only sounded angry. “William Davis! Get down here now!”

W.D. hung his legs and dropped, sticking the landing with an ease that gave away he’d done this many times before. He was expecting a scolding. What he got, however, took him by surprise.

His father sat him down under the great orange tree, rested a hand on his shoulder, and spoke to him as if W.D. was a grown man, not a little boy just turned five years old. “When I go away,” he told him, “you’ve gotta be the man of the house. You know what that means?”

W.D. thought he had a pretty good idea. “It means I look after Mamma and the baby,” he said, thoughtful. “And tell Mamma how good her cooking is, and bring her flowers when she’s sad. And… and when she needs her feet rubbed, do it for her.”

His father laughed, a deep, rich sound that made W.D. feel important. “You’re right there,” he answers. “If you do all that, sounds like y’all will be in good hands ‘til I come back.”

“Will you be gone a long time, Papa?” he asked with all the childish innocence of youth. Something flashed across his father’s face that W.D. couldn’t make sense of. (As an adult, he would often look back and wonder if his father was seeing his wife and children at home, or imagining the inevitable horror of the war he’d soon be a part of.)

“Not for long, W.D,” he answered, cupping the back of his son’s head. “Not long at all.”

When Anne took her first steps, W.D. was there to see it. Papa was not. When she got sick that winter, shivering and gasping like her tiny lungs were going to give out, it was W.D. who sat with Mamma by her cradle all night long. When spring rolled around again, they hoped and waited — until the day they learned that Papa would not be coming home.

That was the moment “man of the house” became W.D.’s mantle for good. It is a job he has always taken seriously.

These days Anne is the only one left for him to look after. Of course, he knows she doesn’t need much “looking after” at all. He knew it from the moment she caught a bee in her bare hands and showed it to him, only to laugh as he ran off hollering; from the moment she raced him down the street to the bakery and beat him for the first time; from the moment she declared her full name would no longer be _Anne Maryellen Wheeler,_ but _Anne Marie,_ and kept it that way. He knew it from the moment she scaled the orange tree with him, and dared to climb even higher.

Still, she’s his little sister. They might both be grown, but W.D. understands responsibility, and understands _Anne._ He knows the parts of herself she tries so hard to hide. He’s seen her tenderness, seen her hope. It just makes him all the more devoted to the only family he’s got left.

For a long time, that’s the way it was — he and Anne, relying on each other and no one else.

* * *

 W.D. is smart enough to realize things have been changing every since Phillip Carlyle burst into their lives.

Barnum’s apprentice, the white boy with more money than W.D.’s seen in his lifetime. By all rights, Carlyle should exist in different circles than the circus troupe — different worlds, really. When W.D. first meets him, he has no idea why Carlyle is here.

“Doesn’t have an act,” he echoes to Anne in private after they’ve been introduced. The memory of Carlyle’s wide eyes (locked on his sister) still rings in his head. “What’s he doing here, then?”

Anne looks over her shoulder from where she’s busy combing out her hair. “You really wanna make sense of what Barnum’s thinking?”

“No. I wanna figure out what business someone like Phillip Carlyle has with this circus.”

“What’s it matter?” Anne rolls her shoulders, languid, easy, and too casual. “Maybe he’s an investor. Maybe…”

She trails off. When W.D. looks back at her, he’s struck by the expression on her face. He’s _never_ seen Anne look like that, and he’s known his sister her whole life.

It terrifies him.

“Whatever he wants, he better keep it to himself,” he declares, “and keep it away from us. Things are running just fine around her without any more rich folk in the picture.”

“Yeah,” Anne echoes, turning back to her mirror again. “Just fine.”

* * *

He’s not narcissistic enough to think he’s losing his sister. She was never his in the first place. It’s her life. Anne’s stubbornness is stronger than anybody, white or black, man or woman.

That doesn’t mean he likes what he sees happening. And he does see it, because there’s no way to ignore it. _Everyone_ sees it, but W.D. gets a front row seat.

He sees the glances they share, the soft conversations, the way Anne tries and fails to hide her smile when she looks at him. He walks in the ring one night to find Carlyle spotting Anne, watching as she dangles right about his head.

There is a part of him that wishes he could stop it. He wishes he could push Carlyle away from her, deter him from getting near her again. He wants to grab hold of Anne’s hand and run away from danger, they same way they’ve done since they were children. He wants to do what he’s always done — protect her.

Because he knows exactly how this will go. Anne will give her love to this white boy who comes from a world so far from their own. She’ll give her entire heart. Then, when he breaks it, no one will be able to pick up the pieces. Anne will be alone. She’ll lose that tiny part of herself still able to hope, to love. And Carlyle… well, he’ll be just fine.

As much as he wants to, though, he knows he can’t stop it. He knows his sister, remember? She won’t listen to him, or anyone else. She thinks she knows exactly what she’s doing, and won’t even admit what she’s feeling to herself. Trying to protect Anne will only cause her to lash out.

He still tries, once.

“It’s dangerous,” he tells her on the boat to England, alone in the small cabin they share. It’s one of the rare moments of quiet they get on that trip — as it turns out, W.D. is prone to seasickness, so Anne spends most of her time out of the cabin doing who knows what. He can only hope she isn’t spending time with Carlyle.

“You know it just as well as me,” he continues. “A man like that… he’s got family. Money. Reputation. All the stuff we don’t.”

“He’s still here, though,” Anne points out. Her voice is hard and unreadable. “He sticks around the circus, around us.

“That’s not the point. You can’t get close to him, Annie. You know it.”

Anne’s eyes linger on him for a brief moment before she turns away. He sees the anger in them, the resentment, the guilt. It churns his stomach. “Of course I know,” she bites back. “I’m not stupid.”

He rolls his eyes. “Did I say that?”

“I know it can’t happen.” She takes a shallow breath and holds it. “I don’t love him.”

“Does he love you, though?”

His question strikes her like a knife. She jerks up, eyes wide, before turning away like she’s trying to hide from him. She can hide her face, but not her feelings.

“How’m I supposed to know that?” she demands, venom dripping from her words. “I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know what he wants.”

What does Anne want? One look at her face, and W.D. knows. He feels sick, and it’s because of the churning ocean. After a few seconds, he lays a hand on her back; she remains perfectly still.

“He’s different from us,” W.D. says. “You can’t forget that.”

“You’re right,” Anne replies. “I can’t.” 

* * *

 He sees his sister run out of the theatre. He sees Carlyle staring after her, looking stunned and ashamed, all feelings Anne knows too well. He sees it all, and W.D. feels a hatred so strong that it almost overwhelms him.

After the show, he corners Carlyle the first chance he gets. “You can’t keep doing this,” he says.

Carlyle takes a few steps back. He’s always been a little intimidated by W.D. (which suits W.D. just fine). “I —“ he says, but the words die in his throat. He knows what he did wrong.

“Anne’s gonna get hurt, and that’ll be on you. Be a man, and leave her alone.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her,” says Carlyle. W.D. shakes his head, torn between fury and disbelief.

“You already have,” he replies. Carlyle flinches back like he’s been struck.

W.D. walks away without looking back, but he can feel Carlyle’s gaze on his back the entire time.

For a while, he thinks it works. Carlyle seems to keep his distance; and Anne is so bruised that she doesn’t want anything to do with him. Instead she throws herself into practice, into the show. Her emotions are channeled into her performance. She rages on the ground, but in the air she’s free.

(When W.D. catches her from a dangerous flip and realizes her face is glistening with tears, he doesn’t say anything.)

And then.

And then he’s not sure _what_ happens.

Anne leaves for the theatre on the same night Barnum goes on tour; Carlyle “has someplace to be” a few minutes later. W.D. bolts upright, staring between the other freaks, searching for information in their closed off faces. No one will tell him a thing. Lettie just rests a hand on his shoulder and shakes her head, silently telling him that there’s nothing he can do.

That night, Anne comes home late. She is silent; she won’t look W.D. in the eyes. She changes into her nightgown, blows out the candle, and curls up on her cot. A few minutes later, W.D. hears her whimpering.

He looks over to find his sister trembling, hugging herself as if desperate to stay warm. Alarm shoots through him. He sits up straight, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Anne.”

His sister doesn’t reply. W.D. crosses the little garrett towards her, kneeling at the side of her bed. “Annie. Hey, hey. Look at me.”

Anne finally turns. Her face is crumpled, glistening with tears. W.D. takes her into his arms without a second of hesitation. She buries herself in his shoulder and weeps until she exhausts herself into sleep.

She doesn’t talk about Carlyle again. She won’t even look at him.

W.D. doesn’t ask why.

* * *

 The circus goes up in flames, and their entire world goes with it.

In the chaos of the fight, followed by the mad scramble to get everyone out of the building, W.D. is so distracted that he doesn’t realize he’s alone. He remembers Anne heading up to their room to change, remembers seeing her ascend the stairs, but he doesn’t realize. He and Carlyle scramble in sync as flames consume the arena. They rush performers and protesters alike out. W.D. is so focused on helping Lettie, pulling Chang and Eng up when they trip, stopping Dog Boy from running back into the building for his few possessions, that he doesn’t realize…

Then Carlyle reels around to face him. _“W.D, where’s Anne?”_

In that instant, W.D.’s entire world stops. The cold reality comes crashing down on him. He is standing in safety without his sister.

Anne is trapped inside the blaze. Anne, his sister, his best friend, the only family he has left. Trapped, maybe dying.

“Anne!”

His first instinct is to sprint towards the fire. Barnum catches him, holds him back, and W.D. fights against him with everything he’s got. That’s his sister in there, the most precious thing in the world to him. He needs to protect her.

He doesn’t fight his way free, doesn’t make it.

Carlyle does.

The second he sees Carlyle vanish through the flaming doorway, time seems to slow down. W.D. can feel his heart in his throat; he continues fighting against Barnum’s iron grip, even as his fellow performers hold him back. The thought of Carlyle in there alone makes him even more desperate. (Why would he rush inside? Why, why, why? Why risk his life for Anne? Does he really care that much?) He fights until a shrill holler of his name slices through the chaos of his mind.

“W.D!” His sister cries, racing towards him. Her singed shawl is pulled tightly around her; her hair flies about her face in wild disarray, dress tangling up her legs. W.D. catches her in his arms, hauling her off his feet, and inhales her smoke-tinged scent. He clutches her like he never wants to let her go.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can think to say. “I’m sorry.”

She looks up at him, confusion in her eyes for a split second -- before somebody calls Carlyle’s name.

The moment Anne realizes, she goes tense in W.D.’s arms. Her hands tighten on his shoulders. Wide, horror-stricken eyes turn on the fire. A second later Barnum races in.

When he carries out Phillip’s limp body, he feels Anne sag against him. She does not tremble in his grip. She remains still, frozen, as his body is laid on a stretcher and taken away.

W.D. can do nothing but hold his sister tight and pray that they will make it through this, as they’ve survived so many other things, intact.

* * *

 Anne haunts the hospital in the hours after the fire. Still in her singed dress and shawl, she sits by Carlyle’s bedside and holds his hand, even through the doctors’ frantic ministrations. Once they announce that there’s nothing left to do but wait, she declares that she’s staying. No matter how W.D. pleads with her, she refuses to leave his side. She will remain with him until… until…

She sings; she prays; she weeps. After an hour, W.D. leaves her. Their home is gone, and their family needs his help; he can do nothing for his sister of her love. Lost in her feverish vigil, Anne shows no sign of realizing that he’s gone.

When W.D. comes back a day later, Carlyle is awake and talking. When she spots her brother, Anne rushes to him and throws her arms around his neck. She is glowing.

“He’s okay,” she whispers in his ear. “He’s going to live!”

He holds her tight, revelling in the miracle as much as Anne herself. She’s practically vibrating with happiness, and W.D. cannot think of all they have lost, not when his sister is so joyful in love. Over the top of her head, he catches Carlyle’s eye and nods to him.

It is a small thanks, all W.D. can offer, and not half of what Carlyle deserves. He nearly died to save Anne’s life. W.D. can no longer resent him, not after something like that.

Phillip nods back, and manages a smile. 

* * *

 He still worries about his sister.

That’s a given; it’s his job. He’s always going to worry about Anne, no matter how old they get. They could be elderly, moving around with canes and wheelchairs, and W.D. will still be looking after his little sister. It’s his job, after all.

Yet as time goes on, he’s beginning to realize that he’s not the only one working. Phillip cares for Anne more than the moon and stars; whenever he looks at her, it is obvious. He has shown his mettle, and proven the fears shared by the Wheeler siblings wrong. W.D. is happy to see Anne loved and loving a man like Phillip Carlyle.

The entire show looks after her too. She is part of the family, after all -- they both are. Even W.D., who always kept to himself, is beginning to spread his own wings. Their new big top allows more opportunities for the performers, and he is no longer unwilling to shine in his own right. He’s allowed to get closer to his fellow performers, to make himself stronger by standing among many. It won’t make him any less able to care for the ones he loves if he cares for many.

Anne shines in the ring, and she shines at Phillip’s side. More than anyone, she has come into her own self. It warms W.D. to see it. He thinks of their parents, and knows they’d be proud of what their children have become; he thinks of his Papa, and feels sure he’d tell his son, “job well done.”

W.D. is still a “freak”, but he’s beginning to learn that’s a title he can embrace. When he looks around, he sees the family that they’ve found all on their own. His sister looks over her shoulder, catches his eye, and smiles -- and W.D. can’t help feeling that they’ve made it to where they’re meant to be.


End file.
